


Glasnost Without Context is Just Business as Usual

by Vee



Category: Halt and Catch Fire
Genre: Awkward Romance, Confessions, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 16:12:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8063134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vee/pseuds/Vee
Summary: In lieu of a thousand words about why this is a Good and Beautiful ship that has won me over in record time, I'll just say: welcome to what might be the first in a series of Ryan/Joe fics attempting to fill in the gaps between their scenes in canon, depending on where the show takes us and how hard things get Jossed in the process.Takes place after 03x05.I like this season 3 Joe. I think this Joe is making good on showing that he has a lot of goodness in him. I just think he's very, very careful about who he shows - and I also think he realizes that he can't wait for the perfect moment to do so anymore.





	

Though dinner had gone well, it was over too quickly. With a full belly, Ryan settled into the seat of Joe’s Cherokee and noted to himself that just one glass of white wine still had the ability to tire him out better than a sleeping pill. “I _really_ don’t want to drive home,” he groused, and just as quickly sounded wide awake as he explained to Joe. “Not that I’m drunk! I’m not even like… I’m just a little bit, you know… I’m buzzed, I guess. Just… sleepy. It was a long day.”

“It really was,” Joe noted, stopping at the traffic light when they met Filmore Street. “I can drive you home, you know. Call a taxi to bring you back up tomorrow. It’s no trouble. I’ll still be awake for a while, myself.”

The gesture was unexpected, and Ryan’s eyes darted suspiciously as he considered it. Most nights that he felt such overwhelming weariness, he’d simply spend the night; he’d made each of the sofas and lounges in Joe’s apartment his bed in due rotation, over the weeks. Those nights, though, they never left the apartment to begin with. “Yeah… sure… that sounds good, thanks.”

Joe crossed the city on Pine Street until they met the 101, and pointed them South toward Los Altos. It was a long drive, and they were silent most of the way. Under normal circumstances, Joe pushed him toward conversation in any idle moment, but as it neared midnight theirs was a companionable silence that only heightened the drowsiness Ryan was already feeling.

There wasn’t much of a view to take in of the Bay so late at night, but occasionally Ryan caught himself looking out the window for something to see, only to settle on Joe’s profile instead. Afraid that he would be caught staring, he gave the directions to his address and settled into the seat, ostensibly for a nap.

He wound up thinking the entire way; solemnly, deeply. Even as Joe navigated the streets like he’d known them since birth and found his way to Ryan’s house without nudging him for a reminder, Ryan allowed a cloud of single-minded concern settle over his wine-tipsy mind.

The Cherokee rolled to a stop in front of the house. Ryan kept his eyes closed and decided to stay put. He didn’t know how to say what was on his mind yet, but knew he needed to.

“Ryan?” 

“Yeah.”

Joe may have gasped slightly, but he wouldn't have let anyone hear it. His surprise was only apparent by the pause he took. “I thought you'd fallen asleep.”

“No, I'm awake, I'm just… thinking.” 

“Not spinning anymore, I hope. I thought we managed to take our minds off work for a bit.” He killed the ignition, left the lights on, leaned back in the driver’s seat.

 _You must be feeling real special right about now. Joe’s great at that._ Too much time had passed, and Ryan knew that if Cameron’s words were still coming back to him when he least wanted them to, they were simply stuck there in his brain and weren’t going to fade away. No matter how much he wanted to trust his own instincts and convince himself she had only been trying to win him back, the doubt stuck and the doubt festered. Especially since so little had changed since then. _Trust me, he will burn you._  

It was the first night in weeks that Ryan had felt anything shift and move forward in how he felt around Joe MacMillan, and he found courage in that fact. So finally, he said it, blurted it out, so unwittingly that the words felt belched up, coming from his gut instead of his mind. “I still don't know if you like me.” 

Joe cocked his head slowly, seeming slightly offended at the words. “I told you I don't spend my personal time with just anyone.” 

“You're making me parse, though! I have to assume, and I can’t… I mean, I don’t _want_ to assume anything. Not with you.” 

Immediately, flatly, without the usual lilt of enlightened detachment he was used to from Joe: “What’s that supposed to mean.” 

Ryan braced himself with a deep breath. “Joe, look: I know what people think about you, okay? I've read… everything… I can get my hands on about you, and I still feel like I know nothing. All I know is that a lot of people hate you, and don't trust you.” As Ryan said it, and as Ryan went on, Joe's face steeled into a somber, inscrutable mask. He was still listening, at the very least. “But I did trust you - I do. If I didn't trust you, I wouldn't be doing this. I just…” Restless and insecure, needing a break from Joe's unwavering gaze, Ryan looked aside, through the window toward the dark doorstep of his house. He could still see Joe in the reflection of the glass, and Joe was still staring. “I look at you, and I get twisted up in what I've read and what I've been told, and I feel like this more and more the closer we get to something big. So… I don't know, man.”

“So. Tell me what you want from me. You’ve never had a problem doing that before.” There was a charitable softness to the approach, but in the back of Ryan’s mind remained the knowledge that there was no clear direction to go, no clear objective to seek. Not with this.

“I… I just…” He struggled to express it, but fell short with a quick, quiet grunt of frustration. “I'm not good at this, Joe.” 

“Neither am I.” 

“Bullshit,” Ryan said immediately. “Bullshit, you could convince people of anything if you were the one talking about it. You seduce everyone, don't you see that? You just… talk. You talk, it's what you do, but for me, it's like I only wish I could shut up more and more.” 

“I talk because I like knowing what people want and what people need. I like having that roadmap. If I lead with most of the talking, they tend to open up. And then I simply… decide what I'll do about what they tell me.” Vaguely, Ryan knew where this was going. “I don't have that with you. I never did. All you wanted was to be here. So sometimes I wonder why you're _still_ here, if you think the risk is so great.”  

“I want to stay,” Ryan said simply, firmly. “You know, wherever this ends up.”

“The work. The network.” 

“No, Joe, that's what I'm trying to get across! You! I actually want to be around you, but… I mean the only thing I know I'm good for is my work, so I keep falling back on that, keep running my mouth and embarrassing myself even when I just want to say…” He shrugged, shook his head jerkily, and collapsed heavier, deeper into his seat. “Anything.”

“You don’t need to say more, though. I like the things you do say.”

“Even when you shout me down or tell me to shut up?”

Joe paused, and his eyes narrowed slightly. He glanced away. “I'll make an effort not to do that. Not as much. Sometimes you deserve it.” 

He glanced back at Ryan with a smirk, and the tension diffused. Ryan laughed and turned his head to the window, grinning somewhere between relief and indignation.

When Joe spoke again, there was meticulous care in the words. It was the only way Joe knew how to reach out, and he was doing so as tentatively as possible. “Your gall is rare to find. Don't change it. The way you say what's on your mind, don't change that.”

The possibly-backhanded compliment was perplexing enough that Ryan's face scrunched into a grimace before he replied. “I don’t know what to say to that, Joe, but I'll do what I can.” 

“We don't trust compliments well, do we? You're as defensive as I am.”

“I'm defensive because you keep complimenting these things that make me awkward and weird, Joe!” He scoffed, and the white wine buzz began to form the tight knot of a burgeoning headache.

Joe leaned slightly over the gearshift and toward Ryan, but even that put him unexpectedly close. “A different approach, then. Let's throw out the formula. Superficial compliments only, one for one. I'll even go first: you have lovely eyes.”

Ryan was frozen not only by the playful giddiness in Joe’s tone and his overwhelming closeness, but the compliment itself. And suddenly, he couldn't possibly look Joe in the eye. “...thanks. I guess. I've never--”

“Your turn. Keep it superficial.” 

Whatever he was trying to do, Ryan had no idea. He shrugged tightly and raised his voice in nervousness. “I like your house!”

“That's not about me, that's a thing I own. You could have the house without me in it, it would still be the same house. Try again.”

“I like… um… I mean… you're really handsome?” He turned it into a question only because he wasn't sure whether he was following the new formula as Joe intended. The softness of the smile he received was calming, but the subtle glint in Joe’s eyes that accompanied it kept him just on edge enough. “Is that what you mean? Is that the sort of thing we’re doing?” 

“Thank you,” Joe had never sounded so Cheshire Cat-smug to Ryan before. It was a new variable, and he wasn't prepared to account for it. “You have a--”

“Oh, we're still going? I thought we were done, I don't--”

“Are you uncomfortable?”

“A little,” Ryan looked at the dashboard and shook his head quickly. “I mean, that was kind of my point, I feel uncomfortable all the time. But I want to hear what you have to say.”

Joe went on immediately. “You have a way of talking with your hands when you're excited, and that's endearing.”

Ryan chuckled self-consciously. “That just makes me feel stupid. I'm gonna notice I do that, now.”

“Fine, then, it was just a more dressed up way to say I like your hands.”

Stunned again, Ryan thought on that, smiled on the inside, tried not to think too much about hands, about Joe's hands, about how often he found himself watching them. “Um…” He couldn't go forward. Everything swirling in his mind was too direct, too Much. Just too much, like he always was, and when it came to other people he always withdrew, because he knew better at this point. “Damn it… uh…”

“Ryan, you're very attractive to me, is what I'm saying.”

It was like a punch to the head, knocking all of Ryan’s racing thoughts into a vague orbit around the edges while only an empty throb of confusion remained. Ryan looked at him, pulled a face with his mouth agog, and said the only thing that sprung to mind. “Me? Like, physically?”

At least Joe only nodded, blinking slowly, rather than giving him more words to mull over. 

Struggling for precedence, Ryan thought back to the first girl who’d been forward enough to ask him out in high school, the second who spent so much time around him in college, the daughter of a family friend his parents had tried to push him toward for two solid years, and the various people who’d come and gone since, expressing a sure and certain interest in him as more than just a smart kid or a good programmer. He’d never known how to deal with it, because he never understood the complexities of the dance that had to occur between people, just for them to find a common ground and admit it, be around each other. Dating had never made sense, and his expectations from and for other people never went beyond the moment. When the moment was good, it was very, very good. It was only later that Ryan found out that other people expected certain things, certain steps to be taken, allowances to be given, white lies to be told for the sake of a social contract. 

His eyes slid away from Joe, toward his own feet. He’d been silent for some time, so Joe went on in a solemn voice. “Since you think you're not good at this, I'll ask you: do you feel the same way about me?”

“I mean, like, I just said you're really handsome, didn't I?” His heart was racing.

“But is that an objective assessment? Because objectively, traditionally, I already knew that.” Joe laughed through his nose; he was so close that Ryan could hear it, feel it without looking at him, which he certainly was not ready to do under present circumstances. “No wonder you can't tell when people like you.”

It hurt, slightly, but Ryan was used to it. Little cuts healed quickly, and he received them enough that he could only assume they were making him stronger.

“Joe,” Ryan whined as if a torture was being done. “Isn't it obvious? This whole time, hasn't it been obvious?”

He hadn’t considered other people a part of his feelings for a long time - feelings on every level, from happiness to anger to overwhelming desire. He simply cut other people out of those equations and the feelings made a lot more sense, even if they kept him lonely at times. But then, even liking someone was a thing he only knew how to deal with on his own. When he had another angle for his approach, it was easier. It distracted him from the things that could hurt. So Joe had been an object of desire for reasons and feelings that became confused after so many weeks.

Joe’s voice, fathoms-deep, was softer yet as he whispered, “Is this… you're forcing me to presume… the first time you've been attracted to another man?”

“No!” Ryan said petulantly, still looking at his hands, trying not to gesture in any obnoxious way.

He could have produced a list, easily. He could have produced the knowledge base of years and years spent wondering why he wanted what he wanted, never pursued it, and found no place for himself in the romantic milieu of men, women, or anyone, really. The conversation was stressful, captivating in the way it frustrated him and terrified him, but held him in the thrall of whatever was coming next.  

The silence went on for one beat, then two, and long enough, until it galvanized. Just before the silence became deafening, before Ryan’s eyes, Joe's hand reached in and covered his, pulling it away from the other it was wringing, absolutely enveloping it. It was warm and sure and suddenly There, and Ryan was speechless. It was a condition he rarely found himself in, but had become more familiar with under the auspices of Joe MacMillan.

“I'm trying… it's important to me that you understand this… I'm trying not to tell people what they need anymore. A lot’s happened in three years - Hell, a lot’s happened in a week - that makes me feel like I'm at a point where I can tell when people are being honest with me, but a lot of that has to come from me. I have to work so much harder, because of what’s behind me, to read intentions. So please, believe me: after I've filtered out the sycophants and the bullshitters, I don't have the energy left to put someone on. I can't afford that anymore. I’ve said it before, but I’ll remind you again: you came to me. There’s no design or long con, here: you won me over.” 

Ryan was finally about to say something, but Joe cut him off. “I only need to ask one thing of you. And maybe it's a lot to ask. I'll let you decide, but… I really, really need you to keep trusting me. Don't… don't suddenly decide I'm being insincere, because you see or hear a different side of me. If you do. Because I'm trying.” His voice was gentler, less tangible, and Ryan felt a stir of sympathy he'd never felt before. “I’ve come farther alone than I ever did with anyone else, because I knew I'd have to. And it hurt, it was lonely, I was bored and only motivated to prove I could do it. I tried to bring other people with me, forward, anywhere, and somewhere along the line, everyone else decided they didn't trust me.” His hand squeezed Ryan’s harder.

“One by one, like lights turning off, they just left me in the dark, and blamed me when things fell apart. The people I like, Ryan… liking people at all...” He drew in a long, shaky breath, seemed to be thinking about something far bigger than the checkered histories Ryan already knew about. “It's never ends well for me. But I like you. You have to know that, somehow.”

“Glasnost.” Ryan said, almost a whisper, with a sad little laugh to accompany it.

“Hm?” 

“That's all you needed to tell me.” He shrugged. “You can count on me, Joe. I won't just walk away. I mean, you piss me off sometimes, but I always expected you would. Smart people are stubborn; I mean, trust me, I know. But… this feels real, like nothing has felt real to me before.” Because the stir in his stomach was bigger, and it made him consider things, possibilities, in ways he knew didn’t just _happen_ , because that wasn’t how he was.

“ _This,_ what do you mean by _this_?” He knew Joe was needling him again, making sure that Ryan understood the separation between the work and the man facilitating it. And that was okay; the reminder was appreciated.

They were still holding hands, and Ryan picked his up with Joe’s still around it, turned it over, stared. In the shadows he could see the contrast between their skin, where Joe’s long fingers curled in over his palm. It was a calming sight, he decided.

So, knowing it was as simple as that, Ryan shrugged. “Right now.” After an imperceptible nod at the sufficiency of the answer, he looked up at Joe again, a smile spreading on his face. “Thank you for dinner.”

The inscrutable mask dropped from Joe’s face completely, and he couldn’t help reflecting that smile, even laughing a little as he shook his head, replied, “My pleasure.”

Deciding it was a cue to leave, Ryan began to pull his hand away, to lean into the door before he opened it. Instantly, Joe clutched his hand tighter, and tugged him closer. Ryan’s eyebrows shot up, but the confusion was momentary as he realized that Joe’s face was moving toward his, across the space between seats until Ryan could smell the barest whiff of aftershave mixed with sweat that remained after a long day. He stilled, eyes sliding shut when Joe’s lips pressed slowly and deliberately against his cheek.

There Joe remained, even after his pursed lips relaxed and he rested his forehead on Ryan’s temple, a protracted moment that went to work building bridges between all the highs and lows in everything they’d done together for over two months.

When he finally walked up the stairs to his bedroom, Ryan’s head wasn’t spinning. It was clearer than it had been in weeks. The focus was exhilarating, and even if he had no idea what he was feeling because he’d never felt it before, he knew just enough to let himself sleep easy. He wanted to be sharp the next morning. He wanted to carry right now as far as it would go.  



End file.
